Love Me, Love Me Not (Incongruent Figures #1)

by S. M. Koz

  Hailey’s still and quiet, staring out the window. I scoot next to her and put my arm around her shoulder, so she won’t be scared. This isn’t good after all’s she gone through. This was supposed to be a safe place for her. I can’t imagine what’s going through her mind right now.

  “You okay?” I whisper.

  She nods, but doesn’t say anything. When two tears fall from her face onto the windowsill, I know she’s lying. I hug her tighter and say, “It’s going to be okay.”

  The next two hours are about as bad as you’d expect after having your house ransacked. The cops come and make sure it’s safe. Then, it’s our turn to inspect the damage while they further investigate how the thugs got inside. The detective walks through the house with us, writing down everything of value that’s been stolen.

  We start in Mom’s gallery, but she crumples to the floor as soon as she clears the landing. Most of the artwork is either damaged or gone.

  “Monet original painting,” Dad says, taking charge since Mom can’t do it.

  “Value?” the detective asks.

  “It hasn’t been appraised in about ten years, but it was worth 10.9 million then.”

  The detective drops his pen. Hailey cries and then crumples to the floor next to Mom.

  “Fuck,” I say, kicking the wall.

  “We have insurance on it,” Dad says, “but it won’t cover the emotional value of the piece. If you can only recover one thing, please make it that one.”

  The detective blows out a long breath and then shakes his head before picking up his pen. “We’ll do our best.”

  “Mr. Campbell,” one of the policemen says, joining us upstairs.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s no sign of forced entry anywhere. Whoever did this knew how to get in.”

  “That’s impossible. No one has the security codes but us.”

  “Can you call your security company? Get the records of when people entered and exited over the past week?”

  Dad agrees and rushes downstairs to his office. The detective stands awkwardly in the hallway, so I decide to take him to my room since Mom still isn’t in any shape to go through the rest of the missing artwork.

  As soon as I enter, my blood boils. Not only is everything destroyed, but there’s spray paint on my wall—Fucking Cock Sucker.

  I ignore it and say, “Original Wyland painting. Appraised two years ago for twenty-seven thousand.” This one also has sentimental value. Mom met Wyland when he was a teenager painting in California and recognized his talent immediately. She helped him get noticed early on and then stayed in touch with him. I got to meet him five years ago when we were in Hawaii. While I was looking around his studio, he painted it for me.

  I mention a few of the other more expensive items and then head to Hailey’s room. She doesn’t have anything of value, but I want to see what kind of damage is in there.

  As suspected, the dresser’s overturned, the bed’s been flipped upside down, and her clothes are strewn everywhere. The graffiti artist also marked her room—Fucking cunt—in at least twenty different places, including the carpet and ceiling.

  I return to the hallway and run into Hailey. “Don’t go in there,” I say.

  “I have to.”

  “No.”

  She ignores me and I hear her sobs when she sees the damage. I pull her out and wrap my arms around her, telling her it will be okay.

  The detective excuses himself, and Mom, Hailey and I sit on the landing. I’ve got one arm around each of them, but I’m not sure it’s doing any good.

  After a few minutes, Dad turns the corner and starts up the stairs. He sees us and stops. His jaw is tight and pulsating as he clenches his teeth. He’s pissed. “They broke in the night we left and then again the following morning.”

  “How?”

  His nostrils flare as he says, “They used Hailey’s security code.”

  “What?” Hailey asks, her head snapping up. “That’s impossible. I’ve never told anyone my code. I swear!”

  “The detective also found this note by the front door,” he says, waving a piece of notebook paper enclosed in a plastic bag.

  “What’s it say?” I ask, standing.

  Dad holds it in front of his face and reads the words. “Thanks, Hailey. We’re set. I’ll find you once things calm down.”

  Hailey bolts up and sprints down the stairs. “No!” she yells. “I never gave the code to anyone. I’m not lying. I swear!”

  She pulls the paper from Dad’s hands and studies the words, but he ignores her pleas. “I’m calling Sherry,” he says, before turning around.

  “No!” I shout, rising. “There’s got to be some other explanation.” Hailey would never be part of this. There’s no way.

  He looks over his shoulder. “We don’t have a choice. Our family is in danger with the current situation.” He stalks away and I feel like my entire world is falling apart. Three hours ago, I was dreaming of how we’d spend the night together and now she’s being ripped from my life.

  “I didn’t do it,” she whispers. “I promise. You have to believe me.”

  I want to believe her. I have to believe her.

  But there’s the spray paint and the note. Who would call me a fucking cock sucker? Someone from school? Someone from a rival football team? Neither of those makes sense. I don’t have enemies and they wouldn’t know Hailey.

  There’s only one person I know who makes sense.

  Chase.

  Why would she help him do this? What could she possibly get out of it? I promised her anything she wanted. I’d buy her anything in the world. She didn’t need to do this.

  “Why?” I whisper, falling back to the step. “How could you do this to us?”

  *****

  It’s two days later and we’re still trying to get our house in order. Mom called in our cleaning crew and some painters to help. My room and Hailey’s old room are mostly back together, other than the missing things and the stained carpet. The downstairs and basement still look like war zones, so I wake up early and get to work. Mom’s in the kitchen, sweeping up pieces of ceramic from smashed plates when I enter.

  “Morning,” I say, grabbing the orange juice out of the fridge. I start to pour it in a glass, but remember Hailey’s not here. Mom and Dad don’t like this kind, so I drink it straight from the carton.

  “Good morning, honey,” she says, looking up from her dust pan. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Okay, considering.”

  “You don’t need to help me today. Why don’t you go over to Adam’s?”

  “I’m not leaving you with the house like this.”

  “It’s your break. You should be having fun.”

  “I can’t have fun, knowing this is here.”

  She stands and wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know this has to be hard on you. We all loved Hailey, but you were especially close to her.”

  “I just don’t get it,” I say, hauling myself onto the counter, facing her. Ever since she left, I’ve been trying to understand what happened. I just can’t see her doing something like this, despite all the evidence. “She talked all the time about how she didn’t like me spending money on her. If she was this desperate for money, why would she do that? You’d think she would’ve asked me to buy her things. God knows, I was more than willing.”

  “You think she got something from this?”

  “I don’t know. Why else would somebody rob us?”

  “Maybe she was forced into it. Or blackmailed.”

  Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. What did Chase do? Did he threaten her in some way? Suddenly, it all makes much more sense. She wouldn’t do something like this unless she was in danger and without other options. Or maybe we were in danger. Did he threaten to hurt us and this was her way of protecting us? That’s more understandable than Hailey teaming up with Chase to rob us blind. “I’m going to kill that little fucker,” I say, pushing myself off the counter.
r />   “Bradley!” Mom yells after me. “Let the police do their job and stay out of it!”

  Like hell I’m going to stay out of it. I need to find the truth. I need to show my parents that it’s not her fault.

  The problem is I have no idea where Chase lives or even where to start looking. I told the police I suspected he was involved, but I didn’t have anything other than his first name. They said they’d look into the lead, but we haven’t heard back from them yet.

  I try Googling him, but Chase and The Fucking Asshole doesn’t turn up anything useful. I tap my fingers on my phone and realize there’s only one person who can help. Sherry.

  After going through the DSS secretary, I finally find her. “Hello?” she says.

  “Hey, it’s Brad Campbell. Hailey’s old foster brother.”

  “Hi Brad.” Her voice is controlled, leery. She’s not going to give me anything.

  “Hi. I was just wondering if you knew Chase, Hailey’s ex-boyfriend?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to stop by and see him.”

  “Why?”

  I can’t very well say to beat his ass until he tells me what he did and where our stuff is, so I go with, “I think he might have something of mine.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out that kind of information.”

  Of course not. I sigh and then say, “What about Hailey? Can you tell me where she is?” Maybe she’ll open up with me about what really happened if I tell her I blame him, not her.

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me anything?”

  “No, not really.”

  “So, that’s it then? Our involvement with her is over?”

  “Welcome to the world of foster care, Brad. It’s not pretty or easy. I can tell her you’re looking for her, but it rests on her whether she wants to reach out to you or not.”

  “Do you think she will?”

  “I honestly don’t know. She’s hurt. She claims she never told anyone the security code. The fact that none of you believe her has been hard on her. You know she has trust issues. She thought she had finally found a family she could trust and now … well, you know.”

  “We kicked her to the curb.”

  “She’s not on the curb. She’s in a safe environment, but yes, to her it probably feels that way.”

  “All right. Tell her to call me or e-mail me. Or write if she doesn’t have a phone or computer. Tell her I blame Chase not her.” I give Sherry all my contact information and then head down to the basement to begin sorting through the mess there.

  Chapter 34

  HAILEY

  I wrap my arms tighter around Brittany’s back. After the last four days, I needed to see her. Out of everyone I know, she’s the most likely to understand what I’m going through.

  She hugs me and then holds me at arms’ length. “What exactly is going on?”

  I shake my head and sit on the sofa in the commons area of my group home. I don’t know if Sherry couldn’t find another foster family for me or thought this would be better, but I’m now living with twenty other sixteen and seventeen year olds who have no family and are just biding time until we’re adults and on our own. It’s not horrible. We get three meals a day in the cafeteria, and I have a warm bed to sleep in, but it’s not like being with a family. I feel very alone here, despite sharing a room with three other girls.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” I say. “I mean, it must have been Chase. It had to be. I … I just want to kill him. You should have seen their house. It was …” I take a deep breath and fight back the tears that threaten to fall.

  “It’s not your fault,” Brittany says, sitting down next to me and hugging my shoulders again.

  “It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. My mom wanted me to help Chase. To get him inside. But I refused. I never gave them the security code. I swear. I would never do anything to hurt the Campbells.”

  “I believe you.”

  “And that note wasn’t from him. The handwriting was way too nice to be his. Plus, he calls me Hales, not Hailey.”

  “Did you give the security code to anyone? Maybe he was working with someone else.”

  “No. I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that.”

  “Then, how’d they get it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you have it written down anywhere?”

  “No.”

  She falls against the back of the sofa and sighs. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know.”

  “Who gave you the code?”

  “Gigi.”

  “Any chance she had it written down somewhere?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you talked to Brad?”

  “No, I can’t. He looked so disappointed.” Sherry told me he wants to talk to me, that he blames Chase, not me, but I don’t know what I’d say. Unless Chase and all their stuff is found, he’ll always think I played a role, even if I didn’t.

  “Bummer.”

  I fall back next to her. “I know I shouldn’t be too upset about my situation. This is more like the way my life should have gone,” I say, motioning to the cinderblock walls around me and the tiny Christmas tree. “It’s just that I got a taste of something more and … it was addictive. Loving parents. Loving … whatever Brad was to me. Once you have it, it’s hard to lose, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I almost wish I had never met them. If I had come straight here, I wouldn’t know any better. And they’d still have all their stuff.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Have you talked to your mom or Chase?”

  “I tried calling them, but both numbers have been disconnected.”

  She sits up, excitement lighting up her eyes. “Want to stop by?”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Joelle’s outside waiting on me. She’d take us.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, she’s the best social worker ever.”

  I nod, starting to share her excitement. I need to confront them and find out anything I can. Maybe I could actually help recover some of the items, if they haven’t all been sold already.

  After signing out of the group home and while walking toward the car, I realize how happy I am that I told Brittany. She’s the only one. The moment Gil mentioned someone had broken in, I thought about telling him it might be Chase, but I didn’t want them to get angry with me for withholding information. If I had told them back when my mom first mentioned their plan, maybe all of this could have been avoided. Not that it mattered, they ended up furious and blaming me anyway.

  But if I can find the Monet, maybe they’ll forgive me.

  Thirty minutes later, we’re back in the trailer park I haven’t seen in four months. It looks exactly the same: run-down, dilapidated trailers with boarded up windows; dusty parking lot littered with rusted out bikes tossed around like trash; and stray cats skittering under the trailers as soon as we approach. Even nosy old Garrison is peeking around his tattered curtains. I let out a defeated breath. I thought I’d never have to come back, yet here I am.

  Brittany and I climb out of Joelle’s car and head toward Chase’s place. I kick the beer cans and empty Doritos’ bags out of the path, sending up a cloud of dust that coats my sneakers.

  “Reminds me of my mom’s place,” Brittany says, climbing the steps to the front door.

  I’m so glad I have her here. She gets it.

  I pound on the dirty metal and wait. When nothing happens, I pound again and then try the door. It’s locked, so I push the cardboard on the window back and reach my hand in. With a flip of the bolt, the door swings open.

  The inside looks exactly like I remember it: massive television, stained blue sofa, nothing on the walls. The smell is worse than normal, though. It’s a combination of beer, weed, cigarette smoke, and sex like usual, but it’s a hundred times more potent, like this place hasn�
�t seen an open window or door in days.

  We move through the small trailer, but it soon becomes clear it’s empty, so we go to my mom’s instead.

  The inside of her trailer is nastier than I’ve ever seen it. Cigarette butts are piled in corners. Dirty dishes overflow the sink and counter. Bottles, cans, and needles cover the tables in the living room. Clearly no one took up the cleaning slack after I left.

  “Someone’s been partying,” Brittany notes, following me down the hallway to my mom’s room.

  The door’s open, giving us a fantastic view of her naked body lying next to some naked guy despite it being one in the afternoon. The sheets are twisted around their legs with more bottles and needles lying next to them.

  “Are they dead?” Brittany asks, stepping closer.

  “That’d be just my luck. The one time I want to talk to her would be when she finally kicks the bucket.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Brittany says, motioning to the guy. His hand reaches down and he starts playing with himself. “Dude! You have company,” she yells, banging on the wall. “Put that thing away!”

  He jerks with the noise and then sits up. “Huh?” he asks, looking at us. I’ve never seen him before, so he’s either a client or my mom’s latest catch.

  In a fraction of a second, his whole demeanor changes from confusion to sleaze. “You want some of this?” he asks, stroking himself again. “Come here, girls. I’ve got more than enough to go around.”

  “Not from what I can see,” Brittany says without flinching. “That’s the smallest dick in the history of dicks.”

  “I like a feisty pussy,” he replies, crawling out of bed. His mouth curls into a smirk that shows yellow teeth with a big gap where at least one, if not two, are missing.